


Honey I Rose Up From the Dead (I Do It All the Time)

by wondercap



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Different Powers, Attempted Murder, Barry Allen Isn't The Flash, Descriptions of murder, Guns, Kidnapping, M/M, Temporary Character Death, Tumblr: coldflashweek, its like a paragraph but i don't want to trigger anyone, mentioned rape of said oc
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-17
Updated: 2018-09-30
Packaged: 2019-04-24 02:46:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14346366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wondercap/pseuds/wondercap
Summary: Perhaps in some way Barry's life was always destined for something like this. He'd spent his life chasing the impossible and now the impossible had invaded it.--"Yeah," Barry said, "death doesn't tend to stick when I'm around."





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [scrubmarine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/scrubmarine/gifts).



> Dedicated to scrubmarine because they insisted i write a fic for our birthday (months ago). This is the end result. 
> 
> Being posted as part of #coldflashweeks2018 on tumblr.
> 
> Heads up, there is a paragraph where the death and mentioned rape of an underaged oc is briefly described. I really don't want to trigger anyone so be careful. If you want to skip read up to "no matter what Joe said, he had to know" then skip to "And nothing had" just to be safe, i think.

The dead man's charred skin healed over in increments where Barry’s fingers lightly touched what was left of the ashy sternum, then spread elsewhere across the body until it was a patchwork of dead and mending skin. Charcoal crumbled off it in chunks, seemingly replaced by smooth unblemished pink. Gradually, the body turned from blackened decay to a sickly corpse white, slowly growing into a normal healthy pallor. As Barry watched, the ribs that had been broken not five minutes before began to rise and fall, the new skin stretching across a toned stomach as the now un-dead guy took his first instinctive breath.

 

Yeah, this was something Barry was never going to get used to.

 

"Alright," Barry said, and rocked back on his heels, breaking the connection between the slowly warming skin and his handcuffed hands. "Will you let me go now?"

 

The man pointing the gun at him grunted and gestured between Barry and the still unconscious man. Something between awe and anger fighting for dominance on his face. 

 

"He ain't awake yet," He said.

 

"He will be," Barry replied, desperately hoping he didn't sound scared. "Higher brain function takes longer to come back."

 

"Hm," The man narrowed his eyes at Barry. "How long?" The gun came to rest on him again and he flinched, today was not his day.

 

 “I don’t know, I –“ The man pushed the gun into his face.

 

 “ _I don’t know,_ okay?” yelled Barry, craning his head back away from the gun. “I don’t even know how these powers _work_ ! Not everyone comes back, but when they do it’s different every time, no-one _dies_ the same.” He looked into the man’s eyes. “I don’t know how long your friend was dead for, I don’t know when he’s going to wake up, but he _will_ wake up. Everyone else who started healing has.”

 

The man pulled the gun away and reached up to scratch at the mess of burn scars on his arm. “He’ll wake up?” He asked.

 

Barry nodded. “ _Yes_. Yes, he should.”

 

“A’ight,” The man shrugged and started forward towards Barry. Before he could react, the man unlocked one of the cuffs and hauled him backwards, pushing at him until he was pressed against a wall with a metal pole running up the side of it. Without a second thought, the man snapped the free cuff dangling from Barry’s left wrist to the pole.

 

Barry sputtered. “Look – just, _please_ , let me go! Don’t do this!”

 

The man ignored him. He walked back over to the middle of the room and looked down at the undead man. There were still a couple of patches here and there where the skin was off-coloured, but on the whole the man had healed remarkably well for someone who had been burned to a crisp.

 

“I won’t tell anyone,” Barry continued. “There’s nothing _to_ tell, I don’t even know your name –“

 

“’s Mick,” The man grunted as he reached down and dragged his friend by the arms across the floor towards Barry.

 

“Don’t tell me that!” he yelled. “Why would you tell me that? Oh God, you’re going to kill me.”

 

“M’not,” Mick rolled his eyes and crouched down next to Barry. “If I was going to kill you, you’d be dead already. No, Boss is gonna want to speak to you.”

 

“Boss?” Barry wrinkled his nose, they were the only people here and the un-dead guy probably wasn’t waking up anytime soon.

 

Mick reached forward and grabbed at Barry’s arm, barely feeling the resistance as Barry flinched away. He yanked him forward far enough to quickly snap another set of cuffs onto his right wrist.

 

“What –“ Barry started and silenced himself when Mick connected the other lock around the un-dead man’s wrist.

 

“You’ve _got_ to be kidding me,” Barry groaned. “I’m not going anywhere, _he’s_ not going anywhere, is this really necessary?” At this point, Barry was tired and hungry. He hadn’t expected to get snatched off the street after a long night shift at the station. Who knows how long he’d spent with a bag over his head being driven here. He just wanted to go _home_.

 

“Well, I’m goin’ somewhere,” Mick snapped at him and stood. “Ain’t a lot of people who’d target him like this, they gotta be dealt with, ‘an I’m good at _dealing_ with things.” He sneered the word, and Barry was certain dealing involved something highly illegal. “If he doesn’t wake up then I need to know where you are. If he does wake up, then he needs to be where I can find him. Two birds, one palm.”

 

Barry had never heard it said that way before. He rattled the cuff attached to the pole. Even if he wasn’t attached to an unconscious undead guy, he was never very good at getting out of handcuffs, that was always Iris’s talent.

 

Mick headed for the door, gun in hand and handcuff keys in the pocket of his coat. Barry’s stomach growled.

 

“Can you at least bring back some food!?”

 

Mick left the warehouse without a backwards glance and Barry banged his head against the wall. He looked at the man he was handcuffed to. He was breathing and the last of the unhealed skin was starting to turn pink, but other than the beginning of movement behind his closed eyes, there was no sign of consciousness.

 

He was screwed.

 

//

 

It was a muffled buzzing that woke him. An insistent vibrating that made Barry groan and roll his head to the side. Iris, maybe. Or Joe. Could be the department, but unlikely. He’d just gotten off a long shift after all, there were codes to be upheld, or that’s what he’d tell them if they wanted him to come in again.

 

He needed a break.

 

The phone kept vibrating. Barry grumbled and lifted his left arm to fumble about for it on his bedside table, or he would have, if his arm hadn’t resisted with a clank that ripped him from his peaceful reverie.

 

Right. The kidnapping, the burned man, _Mick_.

 

He opened his eyes. The warehouse looked the same as before, all grey washed out concrete with hanging fluorescent lights. In the middle of the room where Barry had first brought the man back to life was a table that had been dragged from someplace else. It stood out starkly from the despondent emptiness of the rest of the warehouse. Briefly, Barry wondered where it had come from but figured as a member of the CCPD he was probably better off not knowing. From his position on the floor he couldn’t see much of what was on the table, but he could see his shoulder bag. It had been emptied earlier, when Mick had first dragged him in and dumped his stuff unceremoniously. The bag was hanging open and at risk of falling over the edge and onto the ground. The vibrating stopped.

 

_His phone_ . If only he could reach it. There was no sign of Mick, no indication of how long he’d been asleep against the wall except for the stiffness of his muscles and the numbness of his butt. Maybe he _should_ try and dislocate something. It’s the only way he was getting out of the cuffs without a key at this rate. As much as he trembled at the thought of hurting himself, it was starting to look like the only option.

 

He looked down at his other wrist, the one connected to the undead man, and froze.

 

The man was awake.

 

Barry watched as he blinked up at the warehouse ceiling, his breaths coming evenly until his gaze shifted sideways and his blue, blue eyes bored into Barry’s with sudden intensity. The two of them stared at each other, the man totally still and Barry barely breathing until the undead man sat up and shifted his body to face him in one fluid movement.

 

"Who the fuck are you?" He snarled, flicking his eyes from Barry, to his cuffed wrist, to the warehouse at large before resting on Barry again, unease barely showing across his face.

Barry was a little preoccupied registering what he looked like to really give the question any proper consideration. He hadn't looked at the man earlier - there wasn't much left to see when he was dead, and then Barry was freaking out about being handcuffed to an unconscious probable-criminal, waiting for _another_ criminal to come back before he fell asleep… Barry felt justified taking a moment to process.

His eyes flicked down to the man's bare chest. There were scars pock marked and littered in various places across his skin, none of which could have added to the cause of his death. Barry didn't need his CSI knowledge for that, or for it to finally register that the man was naked. His clothes hadn't healed. That made sense, the few people Barry had brought back thus far had all had their clothes intact – the way they died hadn’t altered their clothing in any way, like the fire did for this guy. He’d never thought of that...his powers must only bring back living tissue or old scar tissue; the fibrous tissue somehow rejecting the new collagen alignment despite the reparative nature of his powers. _Interesting_ , he mused. The irony of his powers not creating _new_ scars wasn’t lost on him. The – very – new Lichtenberg figure that stretched its way across his back was a direct result of the same accident that gave him his powers, as always Barry had to be the exception to the rule.

Hang on a second. He'd been handcuffed to a _nude man_ for god knows how long and he hadn't even _noticed._ Or – well, a mostly nude man. Looking now, Barry could see the charred scraps of fabric still attached to the man's waist through sheer force of crumbly will. What kind of CSI was he? Barry felt his cheeks heat, the guy was hot too - for all that mattered in the current circumstances.

 

"My eyes are up here," The man said flatly.

 

Barry reddened even more. _Yeah_ they were. He'd never met anybody with eyes that matched the dark blue of the sky before a storm . The deep blue only added to the intensity of the man's gaze, narrowed as it was under thin slanted brows. The dark stubble of his shaved head and his proud widow’s peak only accentuated the angles of his face, allowing the man an extra level of intimidation.

 

"Um," Barry said. "Sorry? It's just - you're, uh, naked. Naked and awake, you’re, um, please don't kill me?"

 

The man raised the arm that was handcuffed to Barry's and nodded to where Barry's other arm was still handcuffed to the wall.

 

"That would be counter-productive, wouldn't it?" He drawled snottily. 

 

Oh no, the guy was hot and _an asshole._ Barry was either going to die from embarrassment or from pissing the guy off. He was too scared and tired and hungry for this. He needed greater control of his brain-to-mouth filter or he’d say something he’d regret.

 

"Look," Barry said. "Do you know how to get out of handcuffs with only your bare hands?"

 

"I don't even know why I'm in handcuffs in the first place, I didn't _do_ anything," The man paused, then smirked. "This time."

 

Oh great, he _was_ a criminal. And he must’ve judged Barry as harmless, or else he wouldn’t have said it.

 

Barry started. "You don't remember – what am I saying of course you don't, not that part anyway." He muffled a groan, he did not want to have this conversation.

 

"Look kid –“

 

"Barry."

 

"–Barry," He amended. "Just tell me _what happened_ . This sure as hell isn't some kind of fun night out, otherwise I wouldn't be the _only one_ naked with memory loss."

 

He scooted closer and grabbed a fistful of Barry's sweater, pushing him back into the wall so he could loom over him. What was it with criminals pushing Barry into walls? he didn’t like getting pushed into walls and it happened far too often for someone who was meant to see less of the action as a CSI than a cop.

 

"You better start talking, kid, or things are going to get a whole lot less civil. I said I wouldn't kill you, I didn't say anything about hurting you."

 

"Uh," Barry said, still trying to recover from the mental image of a fun night out. His fun nights never ended that way. "What's the last thing you remember?"

 

The man – no wait, that was getting tiring. "Actually," Barry said quickly. "What's your name? Mick didn't tell me."

 

That caused the man to pull back. "Mick?”

 

"I said _your_ name not his," Barry joked, and found himself pushed harder into the wall.

 

"Ow! Fine, fine. Yeah, Mick. Big burly bald guy with scars on his arms?"

 

The man inclined his head. "He was here?"

 

"Yeah, he's the reason I'm stuck here," He rattled the handcuff around the pole. "And why you're cuffed to me, didn't even have the decency to say when he'd be back."

 

"Sounds like Mick," he eased his grip a little. "Why?"

 

Barry shrugged. "I answered your question, you answer mine."

 

The man tightened his grip and grit his teeth but Barry just glared at him resolutely, two could play this game. "Fine. Leonard."

 

"Leonard?" Barry made a face, that was almost as bad as Bartholomew. "Okay, Leonard," Really, Barry didn't know what to say. How did you tell someone that they were currently what counted as the undead? "Seriously, what's the last thing you remember?"

 

//

 

"I was _dead_ ," he repeated, and looked down at his hands. His tough and cool facade from earlier had shattered, replaced with something almost vulnerable. He was slumped against the wall next to Barry, no longer the violent bully from before. Barry wasn't sure he liked this side of the stranger.

 

"Yeah," Barry said, "death doesn't tend to stick when I'm around."

 

He shifted uncomfortably as they lapsed into silence. He didn't _do_ this. The few people he'd brought back were accidents, victims of crime, dead until Barry showed up to case the scene and brushed against them looking for evidence. He'd never sat down and talked to one, never _purposefully_ brought someone back. Sure, when he realised the connection to every healed victim was _him_ , he thought of the things he could do, the people he could save...

 

Joe knew. Joe told him there was a balance between life and death, and he was right. Barry knew the science; death was necessary to the planet's survival, but that didn't mean he had to like it. Didn't mean he hadn't experimented, tried to learn the boundaries of his powers...

 

He'd crept into the morgue once. The lab where the autopsies were done was empty of everyone but the body of an exhumed victim, her bones spread across the table in a crude image. There was no attempt to recreate the bones into an anatomically correct skeleton, instead they were sorted into neat alike piles, legs bones to the left, arms to the right, spine and ribs above them with the neck and head at the far end of the table to where Barry had stood hesitantly in the doorway.

 

He’d known it was crazy, but he _had_ to know; how old could the corpse be for his powers to work? Could he save his parents through these impossible powers? You couldn’t be convicted for murder if there wasn’t a victim, after all. There was only one way to find out and no matter what Joe said, he had to know.

   
With trembling fingers he’d reached out and touched the femur bone of the victim. She was seventeen when she was murdered. Attacked from behind, blunt force trauma brought her down, the head injury and following rape kept her there, but it was the inhaled alley water that killed her in the end. The case had gone cold mere months after her death, but now, seven years later a weapon had been found in the same area she was killed. All they had to do was match the weapon and the fingerprints to the damage her skull had received.

 

Her name was Maya. She would have been twenty-seven had she lived.

 

He’d touched her skull as lightly as he could, accepting the potential risk of leaving his prints behind. He’d wished she hadn't been killed so young. Had wished his touch would cause her body to reassemble itself while at the same time he hoped nothing would happen at all.

  
And nothing had.

 

He’d pressed his fingers to the bones for as long as he could, the risk of being caught increased with every minute he’d stayed, until, finally, he was forced to leave the lab in shaky remorse. He’d wanted his mother back, but the guilty relief that crawled up his throat as he fled the precinct made him hesitant to say how much. She’d been dead longer than ten years; if it didn’t work on Maya, it wouldn’t work on her.

 

That was three weeks ago. And still, he barely understood his powers. He didn't know how they worked other than the fresher the corpse the higher the chance of resurrection. He didn't know where they'd come from, but after nine months in a coma he could hazard a guess - waking up at S.T.A.R Labs was one thing, but waking up with powers in the place where the particle accelerator exploded, that was another.

 

The warehouse door bursts open, interrupting each of their introspective silences. Leonard and Barry instantly tensed, acutely aware of their limited options handcuffed as they were. But it was Mick who strolled through the door, covered in soot. His grim expression was belied by the light in his eyes, which only grew brighter as his face split into a grin at the sight of Leonard sitting up and awake.

 

"Snart!" He yelled and strode across the room barely coming to a stop before kneeling and gripping Leonard's shoulder. "How you feeling, boss?"

 

Barry might have flinched at the speed with which the burly man approached, were he not too busy making a horrified face. He looked at Leonard. "Your name is _Leonard Snart_ ? And I thought _I_ had a bad name."

 

Leonard scowled at him and Barry forced his mouth shut with an audible click, but Mick barked a laugh. 

 

"Bartholomew Henry Allen ain't no walk in the park either, kid. But we can't all be called Mick Rory." And then he frowned. "Jesus, Snart. You didn't even tell the kid your name? Harsh."

 

Leonard's scowl deepened. "I've been awake for all of ten minutes, _Mick_ , my last name is the least important revelation of tonight."

 

Mick winced. "I guess he told you about that, huh."

 

Leonard's expression was downright frosty. Even _Barry_ felt guilty and he hadn't done anything except bring the man back to life. Without his consent sure, but it's not like either of them had a choice in the matter. Barry looked at his bag, open on the table. His phone hadn’t vibrated again, it had to be getting late now, or early, depending how you looked at it.

 

Taking a chance, Barry decided to interrupt. "Touching as this reunion is...I'd really like to be going now. So, if you could just," he gave each arm a shake. "I'll be on my way and you can have an angry heart to heart without any prying ears! Just what you want, I bet..." He faltered. "...No?"

 

Mick and Leonard looked at him.

 

Barry groaned. "What do you even need me for? I did my job! _After_ a long shift at the station and being kidnapped! I haven't even eaten in hours, just let me go I won't tell anyone. _Please_ ."

 

Mick looked at Leonard, who shrugged. "I could use some clothes myself." Mick blinked and flicked his eyes down like he hadn't realised Leonard was barely holding onto his last shred of dignity. He nodded slowly.

 

“Safehouse then,” he said, shooting Barry a quelling glance that spoke volumes. Barry wasn’t going home tonight.

 

Barry had done a very good job at putting that thought out of his head in the ten minutes he'd explained to Leonard what happened. He was just glad that his exhaustion was winning out over his own second-hand embarrassment and his brain-to-mouth filter.

 

"What time is it anyway?" He asked, before he could blurt out something else. It had to be some time in the early morning by now, given Barry had been off just before the graveyard shift when Mick kidnapped him. The warehouse had small windows up high, but most of them were covered in a thick layer of dirt and with the lights on inside Barry couldn’t see if it was still dark out. He hoped it was.

 

Mick didn’t look at him as he uncuffed him from the wall and helped haul the two of them to their feet. He took off his coat and draped it over Leonard as the charred remains of his clothing finally gave way, leaving him stark naked and filthy. The handcuffs connecting Leonard to Barry remained in place, and Mick doesn’t look either of them in the eyes as he busies himself with packing away Barry’s things that were spread across the table. Barry watched the man pocket his phone without even looking at it, a sinking feeling in his gut.

 

“ _Mick_ ,” said Leonard.

 

Mick stopped and then turned. “I got distracted.” He said sheepishly, still not looking Leonard in the face. His fingers twitched for his coat pockets like he’s forgotten Leonard’s wearing it.

 

Leonard glanced sidelong at the tense line of Barry’s shoulders. “How long?”

 

“…Four hours.”

 

Barry balked. It was 4 AM!? That meant it was probably Joe calling, wondering where he was.

 

“You have to – “

 

“Shut it.” Leonard barked at him. Then said to Mick, “His phone was on. We need to move, _now.”_

 

Without a word Mick put Barry’s phone back on the table and slung his messenger bag over his shoulder. He gave the room one last check then hustled Barry towards the door when he resisted Leonard’s pulling, Barry spluttering all the way.

 

“Kid, you’ve been kidnapped for hours already,” said Leonard, as he led the way through the door and over to a nondescript black car. “What’s a little longer? Consider it _workplace experience_.”

 

Barry huffed. “Okay, first of all, I’m _twenty-five_ . Second, there really isn’t any reason _not_ to leave me here. If the police are on their way looking for me then all you have to do is leave without me. You don’t want a manhunt – which there _will_ be one if I’m not found – and it’s not like I’m going to be any use to you now, you’re both alive.”

 

Leonard gave a noncommittal hum and looked him up and down before getting into the car. In the dark, his gaze flashed with reflections from the street-lights. Barry repressed a shiver. He didn’t have a choice.

 

“Danger, Will Robinson,” he murmured and followed the pull of the handcuffs into the backseat.

 


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was a long time coming (literally, it's been almost a year since I wrote the first chapter)  
> It's a bit of a mess but i'm mostly happy with it. It's a little shorter than I wanted but eh, them's the breaks.
> 
> Barry faces the realities of being kidnapped and we finally meet Iris.

Barry wakes to the sound of someone banging pots in the kitchen. He groans and shifts, the all-too familiar feeling of a cuff around his wrist not surprising him in the least. He pushes himself into a sitting position ignoring the way his limbs ache in protest.

Ah yes, the consequences of sleeping on the floor and bringing someone back to life.

Faint light from across the room allows him to see where exactly he had ended up; a safe house of some kind, given the thin layer of dust covering the wooden flooring. He was in a living room cuffed to the foot of a lounge, the plastic dust cover a heap on the floor.

Barry rubbed his eyes, he could still feel the exhaustion pooled under them. How long had he slept for this time?

The smell of frying bacon dragged Barry’s attention back to the kitchen and he turned his head towards the sound only to startle at movement in the corner of his eye. He flinched and blinked away as a light clicked on.

“Sleeping Beauty awakes,” Snart says.

“Screw you.”

Barry was still simmering with anger at being kidnapped. Who goes and kidnaps someone after they save their life? Criminals that's who. Maybe Joe was right on his hard stance against repeat offenders, at least these repeat offenders. He didn't even know _how_ Snart had died other than the obvious - what people had targeted him, the mob? Admittedly, Barry's side of things didn't tend to deal with criminals face to face but he could still list the names of several felons with a fiery MO - not that it mattered. Rory had “dealt” with it already and Barry was in no way interested in solving the murder of some dick who was too invested in handcuffs and dramatics. No, sir.

Snart arches an eyebrow. “My, my, you talk to your mother with that mouth?”

Yeah, the only thing that stops Barry from lunging at him is the cuff around his wrist. Dramatic criminal prick. He clenched his fists and opened his mouth to rip him a new one only for Mick to walk into the room with a plateful of food.

His stomach growls.

“Hungry are we?” Snart smirks.

Mick rolls his eyes and dumps the plate in front of Barry. It was full to bursting with food; sausages and bacon, scrambled eggs, beans and two slices of toast. He’s died and gone to heaven.

“Like you weren’t the same an hour ago. You both slept for damn near three days, givin’ me a heart attack.”

“Mick!”

Three days? He was in so much trouble.

Snart shot Barry a furtive look, his jaw tightening as he tried to communicate something to Mick with his eyes. Mick steadfastly ignores him and plonked down on the couch beside Barry.

“You good?” He gestured to the plate and Barry took the hint, pulling it towards him and shovelling the food into his eager mouth.

Ever since the lightning his metabolism hadn't been the same. He was almost always hungry and it was worse after an...episode. It was the same reason he was always exhausted afterwards too, like his body needed to recharge. The potential for resurrection being only one touch away was a constant curse he had to deal with, his powers had to make sure the energy it needed to work was there, or so Barry assumed.

It was silent while he ate. Snart was pouting in the corner and Mick was watching the food disappear off the plate too intensely to focus on anything else. At last, Barry slowed to a halt as the plate was scraped clean and his stomach temporarily satisfied.

“Is that normal?” Mick grunts, at long last looking away.

Barry stares at him.

“The sleepin’ for three days.”

“Oh,” from the corner of his eye he can see Snart sit forward. “I mean, it varies? It depends on how much damage needs to be repaired, the history of the cells itself - whether there is any fibrous tissue, scars don't just vanish out of nowhere or at least as far as I've observed in Snart, I haven't actually spoken to any, uh, revived before…” he slows down long enough to falter and clear his throat. “I guess it also depends on me - my energy levels, glucose...I've never been out this long before, it's probably because of the graveyard shift on top of the stress of being kidnapped and not fed before or after using my powers, _Mick_.”

At least he had the good grace to look ashamed. Barry huffs and leans back against the lounge, he'd cross his arms if only one wasn't still handcuffed.

The worst part was the scientist in him was dying to ask questions, how did he feel, had any recent injuries gone missing, did he smell or see anything unusual both when he was gone and when he came back? There were countless stories about people who had died for several minutes in the back of an ambulance or on the operating table - did Snart's experience sync up with those accounts at all? He was a little relieved the stubbornness in him squashed the scientific curiosity relentlessly.

Snart was already a prick without knowing Barry didn't really know anything.

Speaking of Snart, Barry could still feel heavy eyes on him. It reminded him of the strange feeling he'd been getting whenever he was alone since the accelerator explosion - only without the skin crawl.

“Do you mind?” He snaps and immediately bites his tongue. What was it about this guy? His very presence set him on edge. Barry was normally smarter than this in dangerous situations.

Snart smirks and flashes his teeth. “Not at all.”

A jolt went through him and he had to look away. Dammit. Of all the criminals in all of Central, he had to be kidnapped by the one that gives Oliver Queen a run for his money. Literally. Any other profession, any other context, and Barry would have jumped at the chance to even speak to the guy. As it is, he straightens his spine and hardens his resolve, whatever they wanted from him he wouldn't give it.

Speaking of…

“What do you want from me?”

Mick looked at Snart and Snart tilted his head consideringly. There was silence long enough for him to open his mouth again, but Snart beats him to it.

“I want you to join my crew.”

Barry burst out laughing, sharp and on the edge of hysterical. “You're insane.”

Snart raises an eyebrow and looks to Mick. “Am I?”

Mick leans back and crosses his arms thoughtfully, it wasn't quite where he pictured this going but that's what Snart was for. It made sense and he says so.

Barry scoffs. “No, no it doesn't! You know what I do for a living, and you think I'm just going to roll over after you kidnapped me?”

“Cops go crook’d all the time.”

“Not me.” He says, firmly.

It's Snart's turn to scoff. Barry bites his cheek in annoyance.

“Everyone has a price, what's yours?”

Barry rolls his eyes. “You get that from the Godfather or what? Gonna make me an offer I can't refuse?” He really needed to stop goading the undead criminal, any time now.

“There’s the Doc,” Mick says and Barry glares at him.

Snart makes a non-committal noise and stands, forcing Barry's eyes back to him. The look in his eyes makes Barry stiffen. Of course they had looked into him beyond grabbing him off the streets, jesus what were they going to do, threaten to shiv him if he misbehaved? And what about Joe or Iris, surely they wouldn't target a detective and his daughter.

“We could break him out, of course,” Snart says, trailing a hand along the couch behind Barry and walking the room. “Though that would be more trouble than it's worth.”

Here we go.

“After all, there's a reason you went into law enforcement isn't there, Barry.”

Barry blinks. That was not what he was expecting at all. Threats of violence and murder, sure, not an actual attempt at turning him.

“You - you're actually trying to bribe me.”

“No.” Snart said, finishing his circle to crouch in front of him and grab his chin. “You're going to join my crew because you _owe_ me.”

 

Three weeks later Barry walks into Jitters, feeling eyes on him for the first time since his kidnapping. He pauses in the doorway and chances a glance behind him, but sees nothing. He screws up his face and shrugs before standing in line at the counter. For all appearances he looks totally unbothered but inside he's reeling.

Three weeks. Three weeks since Snart had grabbed him by the chin and made it clear his life was out of his hands. Okay, so it was a bit more complicated than his initial “you owe me” bullshit posturing, Barry hadn’t bought into that at all until he elaborated. Put simply, Mick kidnapping him had only accelerated the rumours of the underground. Apparently, some low life named Thompson had been observing the crime scene when CSI Barry Allen had been called in to analyse the body of known offender Ricky Jones, and had miraculously witnessed yet another one of Barry’s accidental resurrections that even the police had been unaware of, Barry only a week into discovering his powers. Of course, Thompson couldn’t keep his trap shut, talking nonsense about CCPD’s own Hand of Lazarus was bound to gain some attention given the other rumours running rampant about a bank robber controlling the weather and a man who could clone himself - though most wrote him off as a nutter.

Until Mick Rory left him roughed up and bloody, the name Barry Allen spilling from his lips.

According to Snart, Barry was lucky they picked him up when they did, after all who knew how long it would be until some mobster decided to look into the CCPD’s suspicious resurgence of undead victims. Barry wasn’t so sure, but couldn’t deny his peaceful days were over so long as Thompson knew his name.

Snart said he’d take care of it. That he’d _taken_ care of it. Barry didn’t even have room to protest - Snart had already explained his reasonings by then; his ability was useful but Snart was the only one who could have him, if he didn’t join Snart’s crew his enemies were just as likely to find him and use him and Snart would rather kill him than lose his leverage - and above all, Barry had seen his face.

Not much of a choice after that, Barry didn’t want to die.

At least they hadn’t threatened anyone other than him. And that leads to now, standing in Jitters waiting for Iris with a moccacino in hand after three weeks of radio silence.

He takes a sip and winces. It had been a rough couple of weeks, too. Joe and Eddie and half a dozen other cops had been hovering over him like mother hens ever since he was found hogtied at the warehouse with a blackened eye and a dread hanging over him he hadn’t felt for a long time.

_We’ll be in touch,_ Snart had said before wailing on him without any warning, _have to leave a good impression,_ he’d touched his cheek to examine the shiner, _it’s just business, Barry._

He shuddered and took another sip, ignoring the burn of his mouth. He’d had to lie to everyone and claim he had no idea who had taken him or why. Said they’d kept him restrained and blinded, their voices muffled by headphones and other precautions that Barry only knew about because of coworkers who had gone through the exact same thing. He felt like a fraud. He didn’t deserve the sympathy and pity from the precinct - sure he’d actually been kidnapped but it was nothing compared to what others had really gone through.

Barry scowled down at his coffee. He felt like a dirty cop and he hadn’t even done anything.

“Now that's a bitter face for this early in the morning.”

Barry jerks at the all too familiar drawl, his whole body jumping upwards and spilling burning coffee down his front.

Snart doesn’t even have the good grace to look apologetic. He does, however, grab some napkins and start patting at his chest in a weak attempt at looking helpful.

“What are you doing here?” Barry manages to hiss out between biting his lip from the pain and pulling at his shirt.

“Now, now, that’s no way to speak to a friend, is it?”

“You’re not my-”

“Barry!” Iris rushes in and puts a hand to her mouth. “I saw the whole thing from outside, are you okay?”

Barry curses internally. The one time Iris was late Snart just had to show up. He didn’t want them in the same city, let alone the same room.

“Yeah, I’m fine, Iris.” Barry sighs and plucks morosely at his shirt, the coffee was already beginning to cool and stick to his skin.

“I think I’ve got a spare shirt in my car, it’s one of yours too. I’ll run back and get it, won’t be a second.” Iris says and flicks her eyes to Snart. She raises an eyebrow and winks before rushing out.

Barry blushes. Snart was not the kind of handsome stranger Barry wanted to find himself in this situation with, no thank you.

“So that’s Ms. West. I can see the appeal.”

“Shut your mouth.”

“Make me,” Snart teases and Barry has to roll his eyes or he’ll puke.

“What are you doing here, Snart? It’s been three weeks.”

“Hoping I’d forgotten about our deal? I don’t think so.”

Barry grumbles. “Not much of a deal.”

Snart steps closer, his body brushing against Barry’s. “You rather I make good on that threat, Barry? I hear Spring’s a nice time for a funeral.”

His thigh was hot pressed against his own but Barry felt a shudder go through him at the unmistakable feeling of a loaded holster pressing against him. He looks away.

“Why are you here?” It comes out as a whisper and Snart smirks at the defeat. He leans closer to speak into Barry’s ear.

“I have a job for you. Saints and Sinners. 10pm. _Don’t_ be late.”

He steps back just as Iris pushes through the door again and takes in their positions with a smile on her face.

“Here.” She says to Barry and swaps him a shirt for his half-empty coffee before turning and sticking out her hand. “Iris West, and who might you be?”

Barry tenses but Snart has already taken her hand.

“Leonard Wynters.” He says smoothly, “A pleasure.”

Iris giggles, _giggles_ in response.

“Well!” Barry says clapping his hands. “We were just leaving, sorry.”

Iris frowns. “I haven’t even ordered yet.”

“Yeah, I ordered for you, but they were out. Crazy, right? Let’s go.”

Iris shrugs off his attempts to herd her towards the door. “Jitters out of hazelnut cappuccino? Nice try. How long has this been going on, huh?”

She gestures between the two of them and Barry flounders. She couldn’t -- she didn’t really - no, no way.

“Three weeks.” Snart says and slides an arm around Barry’s back. “It’s new.”

Barry’s face heats up as fast as a wildfire. This was not how he pictured his morning going. The coffee had soaked completely into his shirt by now, no one making an effort to pat it dry with napkins, but it wasn’t the worst thing he was feeling right now. Somehow, Snart just keeps ruining his life.

Iris eyes him innocently.  “You should go change, rinse your shirt before it stains - it’s your favourite.”

Barry narrows his eyes, leaving her alone with Snart? Not gonna happen.

“It’s fine, I’m sure it’s too late.”

“Oh, but it’s your _favourite_ , Barr.” Snart says, faking earnestness. He was enjoying this way too much for Barry’s liking. There was no way he could deal with a combined force of Iris and his “boyfriend”...

“Yeah, you’re right.” Barry says, and pulls off his shirt right there.

He regrets it almost instantly, having forgotten in the heat of the moment his very visible lightning scars that trace their way across both his chest and back and how he hadn’t actually shown them to anyone except Iris and Joe, who had seen them while he was unconscious in the hospital. But what’s done is done, he has to commit to it now.

He looks Snart dead in the eyes, and glares at him, daring him to say anything before pulling on the shirt Iris gave him quickly. A glance at Iris shows his actions had the opposite effect than what he intended, her eyes wide, expression thoughtful - there was no way she was leaving this “relationship” alone now. Barry really wishes he was less competitive sometimes. Snart’s only reaction was a flick up and down his chest, less than a second and barely noticeable but far too much attention, as far as Barry is concerned.

He clears his throat. “Right, we really should be going.”

Iris rolls her eyes but keeps her peace, another sign he was heading into dangerous waters. She sips at his coffee she’s still holding and makes a face.

“Ugh, fine. No coffee is better than the junk you drink.” She turns to Snart. “It was nice meeting you, Barry hasn’t said _anything_. He’s not usually that good at keeping secrets...you must be important to him.”

“Okay! Time to go.”

“Of course,” Snart says. “I’m sure we’ll see each other again, Ms West. Oh, and don’t forget, 10pm, Barry.”

“Oh, is that a date?” Iris says as Barry ushers her towards the door even faster. “Little late in the evening, isn’t it?”

The last the two of them see is Snart, a smug smirk on his face. “It’s early, considering what I have planned for him.”

Iris goes pink and barely restrains a squeaky noise as Barry finally shoves her out the door and away from the unapologetic menace that has entered his life.


End file.
